It was a difficult decision for the jury. But we had a lot of fun and wanted to thank all poets for their wonderful poems.

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Thank you, Kitt Crescendo and Joy Lennick for their jury work and offering one of their books to the winners – and of course to Allan F. Hudson who offered his book to pick from as well. I appreciate your help and support!

Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

There has never been any odd sighs from Creaking
Woods…
the place of gnarled branches and rustling of
leaves,
this place despised for the discourse of dank
boundaries,
a place to disturb childish fears on All Hallows
Eve,
there a space of shadow’s refraction, of darkness
and light,
where the slightest sounds magnified from forest’s
canopied eaves,
the lights of sullen spirits of past in the present
to moan-
the sudden chill dampens the living of warmth,
a stillness to relieve,
goose-bumps to linger, bristled hairs does it raise…
along with tales of the dead, bemoaned and
buggered spirits,
the skin which would crawl from mere mention to
flinch and then pucker,
no odd sighs but sure shrieks and taunt nipples
as flits,
stealthy, the spectral beings dance fro and to
disembodied music,
the scene is of one that haunts the mind prone
to such fits…
this where bark rubs bark, to sound echoes of
tree’d hollow drums,
this merging medley to fears of both natural
and unnatural wonder,
the senses overwhelmed… set on heel to this
odd bounty of soul,
so we would revel in these things… things that
can’t hurt us by blunder,
ghosts may pierce our bodies and would yet
then fly through,
it is the lightening we see but then shake
from the thunder,
contain not the child but the fears that we
have of our past…
no stolen youth, misspent, it is that which
yields to tricks,
nature is a fine trickster herself… the simple
made marvelous at our feet,
the bones as they’re scared… don’t they rattle
and we hear creaks,
no… the hung man still sits there conducting
the symphony,
and it is from those thoughts… our fears, our
mind and our ticks.

***************************************************************************************************************Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
***************************************************************************************************************

Dark and frost prich’t, on this cold nich’t, Witches did rumble.
Sprites and bumpkins, nipp’d ankles, and spakles, nipp’d noses.
Hoar on trees, ice on the burn’s, on which faeries tumble
And laugh, and caper, winter approaches, creatures creep from loaches
Hedgerows, and crypts, Duns, barrows and Cysts, Frich’t, and humble,
alike take tail and bridle and scramble away as true evil approaches.

Each jigsaw cow and horned ram, no matter how old, cries for their mam,
Each rutting boar and pregnant sow cowers.
Each antlered stag, snuffling badger, fierce wildcat and shivering Lamb,
Slink away and hide themselves in dark windswept bowers.

The faerie fair and capricious are, the sprites and bumpkins calm
As night grows deep o’er the faerie realm.
Nymphs, Dryads, all manner of faerie folk shudder and quake, as doors slam
Closed upon the dreaming night, as awakens Helm.

The god of the night, the god of the storm, of the darkness.
The god of the trees, of the hunt, of madness,
Shakes his dark head, his horns, churning the clouds,
Even the yearning dead know his wrath through their shrouds.

2.
Maeve, weeping lying there,
Cannot celebrate this night,
A death, a dire warning, bereft.
She lies, in her weeping, dreaming, plight.
From beneath the mouldering stones an ancient creature
Watches, her husband walked upon it’s grave and it sees her light.
Her beauty and truth, her plight
Even old evil can love.

Unholy night, unholy life, the veil between the two worlds grows thin.
The between time,
The remaking.
Unholy life and a sight of light, Samhain is here, I am a reborn Djinn.
A stone moved,
a life taken.

Maeve prays.
My holy father who art in heaven.
The gods hear, helm awakes, it is Samhain.
An unholy spirit wakes beneath the damp sod of the Argyll hills

3.
Into the dark Depths of a Scots winter,
A pale shadow creeps,
Bereft of life but barely dead
Through ancient stones it seeps
An unmade thing, no veins, no red,
Coursing through the deeps,
Nothing but hatred needing to be fed.

From its tomb of stones and broken bones the pale shadow creeps.
Rising into the cold and forsaken night.
From its slumber and desiccation, dark dreams and haunts, it seeps.
Forming, gaining substance on this dark night.

4.
Helm stalks the land, thunder and fury,
And all quake under his might.
The shadow creeps silently, terrifying by presence
rather than sight.
The humans gone hidden in beds,
the thinkers quailing in their own head’s,
the faerie gone and hiding,
the monster’s awaiting, abiding,
their time till the sun comes again.
No one wants to be out
On this braw Brich’t moonlit nich’t
This all hallows e’een.
Each has a soul to take and each wishes the same one.
Poor sad Maeve.

5.

I ran from the house, ripped apart,
My true love dead and gone,
I ran from the house seeking death for myself.
Spirits, faerie, consoled me and wept with me.
Darker presences also thought of me.
I was not wholesome. Spoiled dark and difficult.
A shadow talked with me as I sat on a felled log,
a god asked me why I was sad.

There is a clearing,
Quiet, moonlit and beautiful on a night such as this.
There is a clearing,
Dark and quiet, shaded from all around, where one would be cast,
Under, into the abyss, the unceasing, pestilence of hell
From which one rose, the other gained.
The god and daemon will do battle for their right to the souls of the living.

Tear and rend, rend and tear
The old god and demon fought
Rip and tear, Tear and rip
Until everything will stop.
Flesh and bone, eyes and nose,
Tear and score, score and tear,
Hands and feet fingers and toes,
Legs and hands and talons or claws
Rend and rip, slash and rip
for the right to
their bodies and their souls.

They battled one against the other,
Until the sun rose on All Hallows and were banished again,
Ripped and torn, wounded and bereft,
one to the ancient crypt the other to the depths of the forest.

We crept quietly, limbs shaking, into the chilly dawn.
We crept quietly into the quiet Morn.
Shaken, assured,
Worried, Wakeful,
Wishful.
Can we now make our own destiny?

————————
All Hallows Eve, is an old Scot’s tradition where, it is thought that the walls between the faerie and the human realm grow thin. Old gods again walk the earth and the creatures of Darkness again stalk the night looking for souls to inhabit. We re-join our tale as the humans have retired for the night. Baskets filled with candy, fruit and nuts. Costumes discarded upon the floor or folded away neatly and the Fae have all slunk away into their bowers, den’s and mounds, before the truly frightening ones appear.

The bonfires have been lit, darling,
To fill the dark with light.
The bonfires have been lit, darling,
Their flames reach such a height.

Put your home fires out, darling.
Be sure to do it right.
Put your home fires out, darling.
From bonfires we’ll relight.

Put food by the door, darling.
Leave it in plain sight.
Put food by the door, darling.
For our own to have a bite.

Do not be afraid, darling,
They see that we’re alright.
Do not be afraid, darling,
no harm from them tonight.

But evil spirits come, darling.
We must put them to flight.
Nut evil spirits come, darling;
Them we must try to fight.

Go and watch the bonfires, darling.
Stand in their bright light.
Go and watch the bonfires, darling,
To keep us safe this night.

***********************************************************************************************This is only the third group of submissions. Please, keep them coming and make it really hard for the jury to decide on the winners! A. J. Alexander

*************************************************************************************************************** Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander

The kids stood at the base of the old apple tree
Hoping this time, they might happen to see
The one known as the witch of Glendale
The very thought, made their faces grow pale
They’d never seen her by the light of day
She couldn’t handle the sun, so they did say
Legend had it that under the Halloween moon
You could see her flying around on her broom
That she wore a tall hat and had a wart on her nose
That her jet-black hair hung like string over spider web clothes
And that the best place, this witch to see
Was at the very top of the old apple tree
And that you had to be careful, you had to beware
Not to let her see that you were scared
Because if she looked you right in the eye
You’ll fall out of the old apple tree and die
The kids sat down under that old apple tree
For none was brave enough, you see
To climb to the top on Halloween night
To wait for the witch or to die of fright
So, another Halloween passed with no takers found
And the legend of the Glendale witch, keeps going around

Cowboys, Astronauts, Ghosts and more
Will come-a knocking at your door
The treat bowl is waiting full to the brim
You leave the door open they can come right in
Your voice is heard telling them all
“The treats are on the table in the hall”.
Little goblins scurry to claim the sweets
Waiting for them, a big bowl of treats
All inside now and the door slams shut
He appears from nowhere with the ax in his hand
He is enormous in size with blood on his face
The goblins are silent the laughter has stopped
Replaced with fear, and frozen in place
The ax held high above their heads
Comes down with a whoosh right toward their face
The goblins start screaming and turning to run
Then the enormous man opens his mouth and speaks
“Happy Halloween kids, help your self there’s plenty more,
just let me go and open the door, the wind blew it shut”.